This one actor used the thing all the time. I gather he never got an erection without it. When it was time for him to demonstrate his masculinity, they would cut the film and he would pump the air out of his Mechanical Marvel, at which point his penis would expand to majestic proportions.
Once he had done this, he had no difficulty in sustaining the erection as long as necessary, and could virtually ejaculate on command. His machine never failed him, and his penis never became erect without it.
According to the First Stooge, other actors had less satisfactory results with the same device. It was frequently employed because of the excellent effect it had on its owner, but with only middling success. It almost invariably produced an erection, but because the erection thus induced was purely physiological in origin, it quite often softened upon removal of the instrument. In other cases, it induced premature ejaculation in actors who were not commonly troubled by that problem.
“You can’t argue that it worked for this one guy,” First Stooge said, “but nobody else who tried it thought it was much good. Science is wonderful but there’s some things you can’t replace, and there’s never going to be a machine to take the place of a good woman’s mouth.”
Right on, brother.
Somebody else told a story about a film they just finished shooting a couple of weeks ago. It won’t be released for a while. They are reportedly unsure what to call it yet, although the title Rear View has been bandied about.
Basically it seems to be an anal variant of Deep Throat. The lead character is a girl who loves to fuck and suck but cannot have an orgasm, until finally she is buggered, and loves it, and that’s the plot. The story line very nearly makes our film sound terrific in comparison.
Anyway, the girl they signed for the lead was not originally in the Linda Lovelace class. She had had experience with anal sex and said she didn’t mind doing it, which is occasionally hard to find in the porno film industry. There are plenty of anal scenes in gay films because there are plenty of gay guys who are into that sort of scene, but a great many of the girls who make these films find anal intercourse painful. Especially when the male performers are unusually well-endowed, as they so often are.
This girl didn’t find it painful, and she had, I guess, a good looking behind, so they gave her the part. They shot the script, such as it was, in more-or-less chronological order, and the big buggery scene came close to the end.
It started off well enough, and then all of a sudden the role absolutely captured the heart and soul (not to mention the rectum) of the female lead. She began shrieking how wonderful it was, how good it felt, and on and on and on, and the director thought he was getting the performance of all time out of this chick, and then the male star obligingly withdrew and permitted the camera to record his orgasm as it splashed upon the girl’s buttocks, and she started yelling that she was almost able to get off and would somebody for Christ’s sake stick it in and give it to her some more.
Which, in the next hour or so, everybody proceeded to do. They put the cameras aside and every male on the set took a turn at the gang-buggering, and evidently the young thing hovered on the very brink of orgasm for close to eternity, until by the Grace of God somebody gave her enough to get her off.
At which point she was totally tapped out, zonked, drained, and had to go home and stay in bed alone for the next three days, utterly fucking up the shooting schedule. And of course they had to retake the buggery scene anyway because she was supposed to fake an orgasm at the end of it and they had to shoot it over.
So maybe the chick’ll do for the anus what Linda L. has done for the throat. I wonder what new frontiers remain in contemporary erotic film. The nostril? The belly button? The ear?
I’m going to skip tomorrow’s filming. They’re doing the auction scene and a couple of other things, and I really can’t see that my presence should be required, either for work on the film or to accumulate more material for the diary.
I have an appointment at three at a sound studio at 8th Avenue and 54th, where I’m going to attempt to do the Rasputin song. I suppose it would be a hell of a lot more professional to hire somebody to sing it, since I have to hire a guitarist anyway, but I might as well indulge myself and save the company some dollars at the same time. I know what I sound like and I don’t sound wonderful, but what the hell, it doesn’t make any real difference.
Speaking of songs, Alan seems concerned about the “Hitler, He Only Had One Ball” number that Madge and Pluto do. He likes it and says it will be no trouble and not much expense getting newsreel footage of silly looking Germans, but he thinks the music, the Colonel Bogey’s March from Bridge over the River Kwai, may not be in public domain. And it seems that it costs quite a bit to get permissions for film use.
I can’t believe there’s an existing copyright © on that. The tune was around long before the film, they used to sing it during the war, for Christ’s sake. Anyway, we can change a couple key notes in the melody and steal it, since the words are our own.
He was also concerned about the Rasputin tune, until I told him it was to the tune of “I Am A Rebel Soldier” which was written anonymously in perhaps 1870. That reassured him, but he still doesn’t want to use the song, damn him.
I’m scheduled to have dinner with Sophie tomorrow. To interview her, that being one of the components of this here book. See what you get, folks, is a screenplay, a production diary, and an interview with the leading lady herself.
I don’t know where I’ll take her for dinner. I was going to ask her what she likes to eat but I was afraid what her answer might be.
— Friday
Well, Sophie has been wined and dined and interviewed. You’ll read about it elsewhere. I violated a longstanding principle of mine and taped the interview. I usually prefer to go straight to a typewriter and write it out as I remember it, but I knew I wasn’t going to feel like doing that tonight, so I took the easy way out and dragged a cassette recorder along. In a couple of days I’ll have to get somebody to type it up for me. I refuse to hassle with transcribing tapes, I’m rotten at it. It’s expensive to have them done professionally but I’ll just have to spend the money. It would be nice to stick Alan with the fee, but I’d never get away with it. I just hope I get away with sticking him for the expenses incurred this afternoon.
I met an old-timey friend at Advantage Studios, a musician named Cary Feldborn. I had originally conceived the song as one voice: mine with one guitar to back it up. Cary decided to back me on banjo with a friend of his on guitar, and after our first run-through he decided a harmonica track would be good, so he made a phone call, and later a black chick whose name I never did catch wandered in and he had her sit down at the piano, and Cary sang along with me on the choruses, and all of a sudden we’ve got a whole production number and three hours of studio time, not counting the mixing and everything, and it’s the stupidest goddamned thing ever, but I heard the final playback and by God it sounds pretty good. It honestly has a nice sound to it, and it’s only a shame that the nature of the lyrics preclude using it in anything but the film.
I don’t even want to think about the cost. The way I feel right now I would pay it myself, since it’s so unequivocally an indulgence of my own ego and an unwarranted production expense in terms of the film, but I just can’t afford to pay it myself. I haven’t got that kind of dough on hand. Maybe I’ll fence with Alan and agree to pay a portion of the cost out of my share of the profits, if and when such profits accrue. Since I don’t really expect ever to see any profits, I’m not that leery of bargaining some of them away.